Zenith
by Maus17
Summary: Even Decepticons can play pretend.


_**Little TFP drabble on a character (A deception OC.) Inspired by this picture:**_

_** art/Decepticon-OC-Zenith-395325543**_

_**Does not belong to me. :3 Enjoy. **_

* * *

He waited in the shadows, his servos tight and locked as his wings twitched repeatedly. Optics narrowed behind his golden visor, he felt his lip platings twitch upwards, and allowed himself a wide grin.

He was excited. No matter how many times he repeated the act, how many times he practiced, he felt it. The sensation of tingles rippling down his spinal chain, his helm buzzing as half formed speculations ran through his processor. It was something glorious, something fantastic, watching them from above as they gaped at him in awe, performing stunts that would cause other mechs to leak transmission fluid.

But he wasn't other mechs. He was Zenith.

Perhaps the thoughts were a bit cocky, perhaps not. He was the best of the troop, the most dedicated, the most bold and daring. This was for him- he could picture doing nothing else, save for hearing the roaring masses and squeals...

The flier's vents caught in his intake pipes, and he stood up straighter once he heard the crowd cheer, his grin widening until he thought his faceplates would hurt. This was it, this was his moment. His designation had been called.

Taking a deep vent in, he felt his limbs grow loose, and his wings perked in confidence. Zenith didn't waste a single nanosecond as he sprang from his hiding spot, chuckling under his breath as the multiple gasps were heard.

He remained still and straight as an arrow, helm pointed down, optics narrowed, his servos at his sides as he watched the ground come up from thousands of feet below. The wind blew through his cables and wires, the western sun catching his smooth paint in its radiance, making it glimmer as he fell gracefully.

Then, he began to move.

The aerial artist turned and twisted in his spot, a whirling dervish in mid air, parts clicking together and clanking softly under the crowd's watchful optics, moving and positioning himself until...

He was TRULY airborne. His engines gave a happy hum, and he arched backwards in a loop-the-loop, wings outstretched, glistening and wonderfully sleek. His spark soared as the crowd cheered, and he raced on, upwards, upwards. Touching the clouds and spinning, watching the world from his perch, everything smaller than nanobots.

It made him feel invincible.

Hurtling through the air at deadly speeds, slicing the skies with his graceful form, and then looping up, letting his engines shut down and feigning free fall...

Hearing the crowd gasp, watching them point their digits at him with raised servos, optics wide as the ground came nearer, and then rocketing back up in a marvelous spiral.

Their cheers echoed in his ears as he dove again, heading straight for the audience and stifling laughs as some reached up to brush his wings, others screaming and shying away, still others that cursed him, praised him, flinched.

And he had optics for only one.

She came every single time, to every show, and always called his name, clapping and cheering with her wonderfully bright green optics. Slim, graceful- she was a flier too, her silver and golden wings gleaming, faceplates alight with joy. Every time he charged, she surged forward, not back. Her servos stretched for his wings, and amidst the various others, he could identify her digits ghosting over the smooth metal.

He would slow down, for the smallest of seconds, a microscopic amount... Just to feel her welcome touch.

Zenith rocketed away again, towards the center of the circle as he shifted back into his biped form and hovered in mid- air, waving at the eager faces and grinning. His helm turned, and he bowed at everyone- but his optics never left her.

He didn't know her designation, or where she came from, but one day, after the crowds had dispersed and the arena was left quiet, maybe he would be able to catch her before she vanished into the sea of mechs and femmes and-

"ZENITH! ZENITH, YOU DEAF FRAGGER! Are you STILL recharging?"

The crowd was swept away and replaced with a soft darkness, voices fading to give way to a solitary, drawling, annoying one that rang harshly in his audio receptors.

Optics flickering and finally turning their customary shade of red, the Decepticon ex-vented heavily and stared up at the lab's dark ceiling. A dream- that's all it had been. Yet another amidst a pile of lost fantasies to be stored away in his processor, waiting to emerge once more while he recharged. Just a dream.

His joints felt stiff, and his wings ached from sky hunger. He hadn't flown in CYCLES, all because he was cooped up in the fragging lab with Knockout, that vain carrier fragger.

Sitting up sluggishly, the flier reached for his visor and slipped it on, stretching as he stood and faced the red grounder, who had his servos crossed over his chassis, a scowl on his faceplates.

"It's about time! You lazy aft, do you have any idea what Lord Megatron would say if he found out how much of a drag you are? This place is a mess," he drawled angrily, gesturing to the lab. Zenith had fallen asleep on a nearby med-berth after cycles of endless work, and none of the tools had been picked up yet.

With an irritated twitch of his wings, he huffed and pushed past the shorter red mech, rolling his optics. He and Knockout had never really gotten along after he'd questioned his motives for not taking on a flying frame. It was just an innocent inquiry, but the mech had gotten upset, and was a snarky glitch ever since. Go figure.

"Hey! I'm talking to you, flier!"

"Yeah, well, just so you know- I'm not listening," he growled in response, exiting the laboratory and walking away swiftly. He would pick up the tools and clean the lab when he damn felt like it. AFTER his flying break.

Because when he closed his optics and shut himself off from the world, spiraling through the sky and ignoring the Nemesis in the background, he could still hear the cheers and clapping, feel the thrill... He could still hear her...

And pretend he felt her digits smoothing over his wings, like they had so many times before.

Zenith ex-vented and walked through the dimly lit hall, ignoring the outraged curses of Knockout. He'd never known her designation...never spoken to her...

He tilted his helm and looked at the sky, inviting and blue through the windows as he neared the flight deck.

Maybe he'd find her one day.

Until then...

This was his moment.

Zenith ran past the doors and to the outstretched wing, flinging himself off and feeling a grin slap itself onto his face. He let out a victorious whoop.


End file.
